


Sleeping Beauty

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: The humans have a special, medical name for it that Papyrus doesn’t remember. He only knows the other, more simple name. They call it ‘Sleeping Beauty Syndrome’, after the princess in the fairytale.What it means is that Sans doesn’t wake up.[One-sided Fontcest, caretaking and all the angst]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For @quiettwater, who requested some fontcest with pining. Since there weren’t any other restrictions, I thought I might bring out an idea I’ve wanted to play with. A post-pacifist Sans, exhausted by all the resets, contracts what is essentially the monster version of Kleine–Levin syndrome. You can decide for yourself if Papyrus’s reaction is too-creepy or just very sad and desperate. I’m tempted to turn this into a longer, more refined fic at some point. 
> 
> Content Warning: One-sided Fontcest [Papyrus/Sans], light somnophilia themes, angst angst angst, pining, caretaking.

The humans have a special, medical name for it that Papyrus doesn’t remember. He only knows the other, more simple name. They call it ‘Sleeping Beauty Syndrome’, after the princess in the fairytale.

What it means is that Sans doesn’t wake up.

It’s not like falling down, Alphys assures him, which would be more of a relief except that she’s also admitted that she’s never seen anything like it before. Sans’s soul is stable. His rest even seems peaceful, for a change. No nightmares or screaming, no jolting awake with his eye flaring cyan. It’s not dangerous, exactly, so long as they can still rouse him just enough to get food into him every day.

Papyrus adopts this responsibility with utmost seriousness, preparing the most nutritious meals he can and gently coaxing his brother to swallow as much as possible. Sans usually manages just a few spoonfuls. During the process he’s hardly cognizant. His eyes might crack open briefly, but his eyelights are always out. He can’t seem to speak, only uttering soft mumbles and groans, slurred and incoherent.

The rest of the time there is only the soft, even sound of his breathing amidst the eerie stillness, or the quietly desperate murmur of Papyrus begging his brother to come back.

* * *

 

In the first week, he gives it a try, of course. A part of him is painfully hopeful that the solution could be so simple. Sleeping Beauty awoke from her slumber at the kiss of her prince.

But when he kisses his brother, nothing happens. He tries, again and again. Maybe he isn’t doing it properly? Maybe you need to be a real prince? Maybe you need actual lips? Unfortunately the monsters no longer have a prince, and when Frisk had pressed a saddened, innocent kiss to Sans’s temple during their first visit after the diagnosis, that hadn’t helped either.

Papyrus still tries occasionally, but he knows it’s more for his own benefit than for Sans’s.

* * *

 

Papyrus doesn’t leave the house much any more. He can’t bear to risk it. What if Sans finally wakes up, and Papyrus isn’t there? What if he wakes, and then falls asleep again before Papyrus can come back?

He hasn’t heard his brother’s voice or seen his real smile in nearly a month now.

It’s an incredibly lonely feeling, but strangely the company of others doesn’t seem to ease it. Toriel comes by every couple of days to sit with Sans, offering Papyrus a break if he needs it, but more often they just end up sitting quietly together, each of them holding one of Sans’s hands and hoping desperately for any twitch of awakening.

Undyne visits, of course, but holding a watchful vigil over the invalid is completely against her nature. Usually she tries (unsuccessfully) to convince Papyrus to go outside and get some fresh air. Occasionally she’ll manage to get him to go as far as the kitchen, usually on the promise of some new, energising recipe she’s discovered that might be _just the thing_ to bring Sans back around.

He always puts his heart and soul into those sessions. Undyne always applauds his manly tears and pulverised offerings of tomatoes. It makes him feel a little better, especially when he gets to tell Sans the story of their kitchen adventures afterwards, holding his brother against his chest and pretending that Sans is listening.

* * *

 

He moves Sans into his own bedroom, telling himself that if Sans is going to sleep all day he should do it in style. Besides, his room has a brighter, healthier ambience than Sans’s, which still consists of a simple mattress on the floor and a newly established trash tornado in the corner. He no longer worries that Sans might fall out of a higher bed in the midst of a nightmare and hurt himself. He sleeps so still sometimes it’s even difficult to feel his chest rising as he breathes.

Papyrus likes to sleep curled around him, feeling that gentle, rhythmic motion that tells him his brother is still alive. Sans’s bones are cool, his temperature muted with the lack of activity, so Papyrus tries to share his own body heat beneath the blankets. He used to only sleep two or three hours a night, but these days he finds himself taking refuge in the bed for nearly all of the dark hours. The house feels too empty to be wandering around in it by himself.

* * *

 

He likes to hold Sans. Likes to cradle his body and assure himself that his brother is still alive and not a pile of dust despite the stillness of his frame. Monsters don’t really have any concept of corpses, since their bodies dissolve upon death, but during their first few weeks on the surface he and Sans had made an expedition to a human museum and seen a proper model of a human skeleton. Papyrus had found it jarring, and not just because it was naked and on display in a brightly lit case. The bones had been so still and unnaturally lifeless.

Sometimes he has nightmares of his own about Sans being put in a case like that. A glass coffin, like the one Sleeping Beauty had slept in. A box to keep him preserved, but untouchable, unreachable. He wakes up crying, sobbing into Sans’s sternum.

What he misses most in those moments is the way Sans would have touched him. How he would gently pet Papyrus’s skull and sooth away the awful images. Experimentally, he takes Sans’s limp hand in his own and presses it to his cheek. He brushes the phalanges along his jaw and down the bones of his neck. The tap of bone on bone makes a soft, musical clinking sound that fills the silence. He finds it comforting.

* * *

 

One night he has a different sort of dream. It’s the strangely ordinary yet somehow rare kind that has a light sweat forming on his bones, the sheets feeling scratchy and uncomfortable on his suddenly sensitive body. There’s nothing distinct in the dream, just dark shapes and jolting pressures and an impatient heat that eventually prompts him back to wakefulness. He breathes heavily against the side of Sans’s skull, feeling restless magic thrumming through his bones, making him shake with restless need. Confused and still half-asleep, he reaches down to touch his pelvis before remembering he isn’t alone in the bed.

Out of propriety, he thinks he should go elsewhere to take care of himself, but Sans’s room has been empty for a month and wasn’t terribly clean to begin with, and it would feel strangely obscene to go out to the couch where he entertains guests – children, like Frisk! – just for the sake of ridding himself of the unexpected, uncomfortable heat.

Normally he has the privacy of his own room for such activities, but…well, it’s still his room, and it is still technically private. Sans sleeps on, unaware, and Papyrus slowly reaches down again. His fingers graze across the crest of his pubis, and the tentative caress makes him whine.

 _Sans won’t mind_ , he tells himself, wriggling away to put a bit of distance between their bodies, but his eyes never leave his brother’s face just in case he shows any signs of waking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation prompted by an anon on tumblr: Imagine Papyrus getting so used to his role of caretaker that he keeps trying to do things for Sans even after he becomes more wakeful.
> 
> So I still plan to turn this AU into a proper, longer fic, and this idea is definitely going to be worked into it. I drabbled part of the earlier instances of this, so it’s more fluffy than disturbing, but with the potential to be the latter. I’m trying to hit a sweet spot between “wow this is cute” and “uh geeze, this feels like it could escalate to bad places”.
> 
> Content Warning: Borderline fontcest [Papyrus/Sans], but nothing explicit except some naked bathing together that isn’t intended to be sexual (mostly). Some borderline controlling caretaking behaviour.

Sans opens his eyes, marvelling at how much easier it seems today. He takes a quick accounting of himself. Everything still feels numb from the knees down, but he can actually feel his fingers today. He curls and uncurls them in the sheets, flexing his knuckles, twisting his wrists, pleased by the simple motions.

“Sans?”

Papyrus’s face hovers over him, uncertainty morphing into delight.

“You’re awake again! Your third day in a row! I’m so proud of you!”

Sans is scooped up into a rib-creaking hug. The movement feels a little too abrupt, and he finds it disorienting, but he can’t complain. Papyrus is so unbearably happy. Sans weakly manages to pat his brother on the back.

“Yeah bro,” he wheezes. His voice is still weak, but it doesn’t matter when he’s pressed  to his brother’s collarbone. “Still here.”

“I’m so glad.” Papyrus holds him for a few seconds longer, and then very carefully puts Sans back down on the mattress, tucking him in. A small scattering of tears are discreetly wiped away as he straightens with a grin bright enough to challenge the sun outside. “I was just fixing breakfast. Do you think you can stay awake? I only need a few more minutes.”

“Sure,” Sans says, gazing up gratefully at his brother. He knows it’s been hard. He knows Papyrus has been taking care of him every day, and still hasn’t given up on him after all this time. He can’t even put into words how much that means.

Papyrus takes almost a full minute before he can bring himself to leave. His hands fuss over Sans’s bones, smoothing down the blankets, and his stare lingers on Sans’s face like he’s trying to commit his waking expression to memory. Sans just smiles back at him gently, letting him drink his fill until a bleating timer from the kitchen finally forces Papyrus to hurry back to his cooking.

* * *

 

Papyrus feeds him in bed, insisting that he’s had plenty of practice, and that Sans shouldn’t strain himself. Sans doesn’t enjoy feeling so helpless, but he has to admit that his hands aren’t as steady as they could be. It would be more embarrassing to prove that he’s not even capable of steering a fork, and he doesn’t want to make trouble for his brother by spilling food between the sheets.

“Hey, you know, I’m feeling better today,” he tells Papyrus between mouthfuls. “I was hoping you could help me go for a walk. Maybe get outside for a bit. Feels like it’s been ages.”

“Really!?” Papyrus squeals, his eyesockets glimmering with emotion. “Oh brother! That would be wonderful!”

It turns out that walking is more difficult than expected. His legs feel like strange, artificial extensions of his torso. He can’t figure out how to move his ankles properly to make them carry his weight, and even leaning hard on Papyrus he can barely take a step without collapsing.

“Not to worry, brother!” Papyrus assures him, and simply picks Sans up, carrying him easily in his arms. “Your very cool brother has also had much experience at this! Toriel said sunlight and fresh air would be good for you, so I often take you with me on my morning jog. I can carry you very easily. It is no bother.”

It’s a little strange to hear his brother has been lugging his unconscious body around as part of his regular exercise routine, but true to word, Papyrus holds his slight weight as if it’s nothing. When they take a brisk stroll around the block together, no one seems to find it strange that Sans is nestled in his brother’s arms. Apparently this is a fairly regular sight, and they return Papyrus’s cheerful greetings unreservedly.

Sans is disappointed in himself, that he can’t even manage so little on his own, but the sun is bright and warm and Papyrus has a little skip in his step as he walks, so he tries not to let it get him down.

* * *

 

“I’m sort of surprised no one’s been knocking down our door yet to say hello,” Sans remarks a few hours later in the early afternoon, staring out at their front lawn. A bed of yellow flowers has sprung up since the last time he was awake enough to notice such things, and he’s been wondering if there’s any polite way to ask Papyrus if they can replant with something else. Probably not. Judging from the shape of them, he suspects the flowers must be gifts from the King. Old fluffybuns might have even planted them as a favour; a cheer-up gift for his brother, who still innocently appreciates the golden flowers. “At the very least, I thought Tori would have dropped in. I’m sure she’s got loads of new jokes saved up for me.”

There’s an unusual lapse of silence from the other side of the room. Sans glances over, wondering if his brother was too absorbed in his puzzle to hear, but instead he’s looking at Sans with a very conspicuous expression of guilt on his face. “What’s up, bro?”

“I’m sorry, brother,” Papyrus says, looking down at his folded knees. “I…haven’t yet alerted anyone to the fact that you’re finally awake.”

Sans blinks. “How come?”

He’s not really mad, just honestly curious, especially because Papyrus looks so clearly embarassed in his remorse. “I don’t want…it’s been so long since you’ve been awake, and I…I just want to spend time with you. Not with anyone else. I want you to myself.”

“Aww…” Sans smiles slightly. That’s strangely sweet, especially since his brother is actually admitting it instead of obscuring his feelings behind the bluster and dramatics he usually takes refuge in. “I missed you too, bro.”

Papyrus crawls over to the couch, hunched in a way that puts him lower than Sans’s eye-level, for once making himself the smaller brother. “You don’t mind? I’m sorry, we can call them if you want…”

Even as he says it, Papyrus looks stricken by the idea. Sans reaches for him, tugging Papyrus closer by a loop of his scarf. “Nah. It’s fine. Maybe in a couple more days, if I’m still up. We can spend some high-quality bro time together first.”

Papyrus all but collapses on top of him, his weight pressing Sans into the cushions of their sofa. “Thank you, Sans!”

It’s not really a sacrifice. He loves his brother too.

* * *

 

“Oh!” Papyrus says suddenly, looking up from the dishes in the sink. “It’s Thursday! Bath day!”

“Hm?” Sans is still at the table, arms folded under his skull, eyes beginning to droop. It’s still early by normal standards, but given that he’s reeling back from sleeping 24 hours a day to twelve, it’s a good effort on his part. “Sounds good, bro. Think you can put me to bed before you go?”

“I don’t mean my bath, brother. I mean yours!”

“Huh,” Sans muses slowly. Now that he thinks about it, his bones do seem a bit too clean for someone who’s been lying in bed for a month straight. He’s never been a huge proponent of spectacular hygiene like his brother, but Papyrus must have been keeping him respectable, particularly since he’s been using his brother’s bed. “I’m not sure I’m really up for it, bro. Maybe tomorrow.”

“You won’t have to do any of the work, silly,” Papyrus says, drying off his hands and coming over to lift Sans back into his arms. Sans is getting used to this, even though he isn’t sure he should, but it’s easy just to stay lax and let Papyrus do all of the work in getting him around to wherever he needs to be. “I’ll take care of you. Just relax.”

He does, mostly because it’s too difficult to do anything else. He’s getting tired again, eyelids drooping, chin resting on Papyrus’s shoulder. He dozes slightly, aware of nothing but his brother’s cheerful humming and the growing condensation of steamy air filming his bones. He rouses a little on the bathroom floor, soft towels padding his back as he stares up at the ceiling. There’s a tug against his hips as his shorts are shimmied down over his femurs. He feels disoriented. “Pap?”

“What…?” He feels slow and stupid and too tired for serious thought, but his pelvis is bare and that feels a little weird. “Are we…?”

“The bath has finished running,” Papyrus said, deftly pulling Sans’s shorts off entirely. Sans squints, trying to focus, and ends up staring dumbly as Papyrus efficiently strips as well. He’s completely naked when he picks Sans up and gently lowers them both into the tub. “We’ll just get cleaned up, then we can go to bed, okay?”

“L-like this?” Sans asks, blushing, mortified. He hasn’t bathed with Pap since the latter was a baby bones. Papyrus cradles him against his chest, holding Sans upright with gentle pressure on his ribs. Sans is far too aware of how is tailbone is pressing right up against his brother’s pubis.

“It’s easier,” Papyrus says. His voice is oddly low and serious. “The first few times I tried it other ways, but it’s harder to support your body….to keep your head from going under water while you’re asleep. This helps me keep you safe.”

His arms fold around Sans in a meaningful embrace, naked bone on bone, and Sans tells himself he’s being an idiot. An over-reacting, ungrateful idiot. “S-sorry. I’m so sorry, bro. I’m so much trouble for you.”

Papyrus shushes him gently. “It’s fine. brother.”

Papyrus takes up a sudsy washcloth and begins soaping down Sans’s bones. With his longer arms, he can reach practically every part of Sans’s smaller frame, and he’s obviously had practice at it. He’s incredibly diligent, deftly plumbing between each metacarpal, polishing around the kneecap and, yes, even up and down the length of his spine from the cleft of his pelvis to the inside of his ribcage. That part makes Sans blush and huff, squirming with discomfort and embarrassment. “Bro, I can-”

“It’s fine,” Papyrus repeats again, stroking slowly, and with particular attention to the underside of Sans’s sternum. “I assure you, I have you, brother. Just trust me.”

Sans subsides, heavy arms falling back into the water as he goes limp under the treatment, but he swears to himself that he’ll work on getting his strength back soon. He hates feeling like an invalid, and Papyrus shouldn’t have to be performing such an intimate, unnecessary duty. He shouldn’t have to be pandering to his older brother’s weakness.

His first goal is to get strong enough to take a damn bath by himself. Surely it won’t be that hard.


End file.
